Charlie and the Spaghetti Sauce
by EdwardsLily
Summary: A/U BD. When cooking can be orgasmic, problematic, un-diplomatic. Do not take seriously. Challenge from ellibobelli, one-shot. B/E, implied B/J, Charlie/Renee, Charlie/Sue. Rated for language, mild non-innuendos. Full summary inside.


**Full summary: Charlie tries and fails to make spaghetti without Bella. It's basically a crack fic. Pairings include E/B, implied B/J, Charlie/Renée, and Charlie/Sue Clearwater because I've read a couple of those and they crack me up. This was pretty much a dare from ellibobelli. I'm blaming it all on her. She made me do it. I really hate stories like this, and I'm only really posting this because she made me do it. Please don't hate. I know it sucks. Just… don't take it seriously. It's kind of funny, in a sick, twisted way. **

**Scratch that. There is absolutely no point to this one-shot.**

**I am still (trying) to work on a new chapter of Angel. Keep an eye out somewhere between now and… Tuesday? That's not a promise. Just a sort of plea. To be forgiven.**

**Please know I did not edit this at all. I just wrote it and stuck it up here. **

_**Charlie and the Spaghetti Sauce**_

The stove was on, and Charlie didn't know why. He turned the knob this way. He turned the knob that way. He jiggled it. He smashed it. In a fit of frustration, he hit every single button on the display for the oven. The damned thing was beeping and buzzing and flashing lights but the burner would not turn off. A weaker man than Charlie Swan might have started crying.

He didn't _need_ the back right burner on. He wanted the _front_ right burner. But the diagrams were confusing and he couldn't figure out which knob went to which circle of hissing blue flames. And he didn't even need the stove on yet, because he couldn't figure out how to open the stupid bottle of spaghetti sauce – the lid was on too tight.

Bella would know how to fix it. Bella would be in the kitchen right now, sashaying from cupboard to cupboard, with the right flames going at the right temperature (temperature? Power? Level? God…) and the jar of Prego open some heavenly smells flying around the room. But she wasn't here. She was off somewhere with Edward – Carlisle said at the CDC. In Georgia. His Bella, sick, in Georgia, while he was stuck here back in Forks starving and reduced to pounding the oven and screaming obscenities. It was really sad.

"Maybe it doesn't want to be turned off," said a smooth, woman's voice.

Charlie stopped screaming. "What?"

"Maybe it doesn't want to be turned off. Maybe it prefers being turned on. You _are_ so handsome."

"Who said that?" He looked around. There was no one in the room, but he _knew_ that voice.

"I did."

The voice – Renée's voice – was coming from the obstinately closed jar of Prego spaghetti sauce.

"I don't believe you."

"Oh, Charlie," the spaghetti sauce sighed. It sounded a hell of a lot like how Renée used to sound when she was frustrated or exasperated – with him. "You really just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" He picked himself up off the floor and dusted the grime off the knees of his jeans. Jesus, the floor was filthy. He went over to the counter, and picked up the jar, looking at it closely, trying to find some sign of a speaker, or a mouth, or something.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" the jar purred. "Eat me Charlie. Go on."

His stomach rumbled. He moaned. "Renée, I would, but I can't figure out how to get you open. If Bella were here, this would all work out. She knows how to do things."

The jar giggled. "Oh, Charlie. It's not that hard. Just unscrew my lid. You can do it. I know you can. Think of how hungry you are; how good I would taste."

"What the hell is going on?!" He gripped the jar tighter, almost like he was going to throw it at the wall, but restrained himself. "God. I'm going crazy. I'm talking to spaghetti sauce."

"You're not as fun as Bella," the jar pouted. "I like Bella better. Maybe I'll just run away and be with her."

"Run away…?" He set the jar down, dazed. "What do you mean? How are you going to leave me? You're just spaghetti sauce."

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Just let me go, Charlie," she said softly. "It didn't work out, okay? I really, really _hate_ your kitchen."

"Oh God."

"She's right you know," said Sue Clearwater's voice from somewhere in or around the stove. "You two were never meant to be. Now me, Charlie… You know you can't turn me off ever. Just your nasty rotten Bella child. She's off canoodling with vampires. Did you know that? How oblivious you are, still pining after Renée."

"I resent that," said the spaghetti sauce. "I really tried. You know I did. It just couldn't work out. He can't get me open. And I know how hungry he is."

"Oh, shut up," retorted the stove. "You are so ridiculous. You know why he couldn't get you open? Because you're too closed off. He deserves someone feistier, who won't give him a cold shoulder just because he's not your precious _Bella_."

Charlie dropped to his knees in the middle of the kitchen and buried his head in his hands. "What the hell is happening?" Maybe it was the lack of food that was making him delusional. Or the lack of Bella. He wanted Bella back, bad. Why did he let her go get married? Oh, right. Because she was in 'love' with Cullen.

"What's happening here," said the oven shrewishly, "is that your precious _Prego_ over there can't get over herself and her baby. Meanwhile, my oven is empty Charlie, and you've been ignoring me. That seems a little unfair, no?"

"Right, because she's not trying to take advantage of you at all. Think of all the heat she's wasting, smoldering away like that right now. She's a cheap fix and she's going to end up costing you more money than she's worth."

"So what?" retorted the oven. "Are you going to be nice now? That's a miracle. What made you decide to go back to the man who brought you here in the first place? Done being an insolent, obnoxious…"

"Shut up!" Charlie roared. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don't know what's going on here. I'm clearly delusional. I want to go to bed. I'm fucking hungry. I want Bella back. And I can't find my left contact lens."

"Do you need help, Charlie?"

Charlie turned to see Edward standing statue still in the doorway, a semi-amused, semi-horrified expression on his face. "Do you need me to open your spaghetti sauce and turn off your stove for you?"

Charlie studied Edward carefully. He looked too pale. Too tired. Worried. Frustrated. "I think I can handle it, Edward. Thanks, though." Where is Bella?

"Here." Edward stepped into the kitchen and picked up the jar of Prego. "It's not that hard." He put his mouth on the jar. He bit the lid. Slowly, he turned the jar in his hands, twisting off the lid with his teeth. Charlie's jaw dropped as Edward removed the impossible lid of the sauce with his teeth.

"Dang, Bella," he mumbled. "Edward has skills."

"Oh, believe me. I know." Bella's voice.

Charlie whipped around to see what was trying to talk to him now – the clock, maybe? A mismatched chair? Maybe even the garbage can. And there was Bella, standing in the hall.

"Edward has mad skills." Bella smiled weakly. She looked sick, too. Her hair looked thinner. She was colorless, sallow. She reminded Charlie of a wax sculpture. "Hey, listen. I need to talk to both of you."

Edward licked the sauce off the lid and looked at her expectantly.

A small smile played around the edge of her lips. "This may be a bad time, but I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"What!"

"What?"

"Jasper!" Edward groaned and banged his head on the counter. "Of course. You had to go do Jasper."

Bella smirked. "Sorry, love. You were a bit busy. "

Charlie looked back and forth between the two of them, at the jar that almost seemed to be smiling, and at the oven, which beeped at him provocatively. What the hell? This couldn't be real.

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

His alarm clock went off and he remembered nothing about his dream. Nothing.


End file.
